What's Worth Having
by Chiharu Octavia
Summary: Hitman!AU. They seemed like normal police shootings, but something about the latest deaths is suspicious. Can Worth figure out what's going on before everyone he knows ends up dead? Worth/Lamont, Toni/Conrad.
1. Prologue: The Past

**BUT FIRST, THE WARNINGS:**

**This is a NaNoWriMo book. As such, it is full of typos, transpositions, inconsistencies, plot holes and other ridiculous mistakes. **

**This story will have slash.**

**Lastly****, this is book two of a triology. Book One, **_**Traitors,**_** is about Hanna and …, and can be found here: **.com/kream_#cutid1. **Book Three is as yet unpublished. You, dear reader, may never have all the answers you seek.**

**Now. ****Continue at your own risk.**

**THE PAST**

**/LAMONT/**

Lamont Toucey leaned against the open window of his 1970 Chevrolet pickup truck, letting the night wind play through his thick black hair. The spring was warmer lately, downright balmy sometimes, and he sang along loudly to Offspring's "Self Esteem" for no other reason than he was twenty-three and he could. The road was moonless and empty, a seldom-used stretch of cracked highway that ran past the rear of the university and across the levee, down toward the suburbs. He had an appointment there, and if he was lucky, it was something big. After all that time pandering to the woman who'd let him into the business in the first place, he was getting that one chance he needed to really show what he could do. He gunned it, listening with satisfaction to the answering rumble of the engine as the truck leapt forward, tires humming on the asphalt.

He didn't see the man stumbling into the road until it was almost too late.

The brakes screeched, tires laying down an inch of rubber as Lamont swerved into the other lane and off the road, fishtailing to a stop in the scrubby brush that lined the shoulder. Heart pounding, he held onto the steering wheel with both hands.

"Did I hit him?" He checked the rear-view mirror, but there was nothing there. "Oh God fucking shit, did I _hit _him?"

He shut the engine off and grabbed his Maglite before throwing the door open. He ran around the truck, and suddenly stopped. The drunk-ass homeless guy that had decided being fifteen miles from anything on an unlit stretch of backwater pavement was a brilliant idea was staggering up from the other side of the road, apparently unhurt enough that he could move his legs.

"HEY! FUCKFACE!" Relieved and scared, adrenaline still singing in his blood, Lamont marched toward the man, who was doing his best to resume his stumble along the weedy shoulder. "HEY! I'm _talking_ to you, asshole!"

There was no answer. He ran the last few steps, grabbed the man's shoulder and spun him around – and his jaw dropped.

"Luce?"

The other man blinked at the name, and Lamont gaped at his best friend, surprise and anger warring over which would speak first. "What – what the fuck are you doing out here?"

Luce just stared. His blue eyes were too wide, and there was a smear of something dark on his cheek that had caked in his blond hair. His short-sleeved button-up was untucked and partly open, and it, too, was dirty.

"Luce," Lamont tried again, and something flickered across his friend's face. The first thread of genuine worry slid into Lamont's guts. He took hold of Luce's skinny arm, frowning at the tremor that ran through it. "Hey. Can you hear me? Luce, you're missing a shoe, man. What happened?"

At that, Luce looked down, his expression mystified as though his feet were a million miles away, and not at all connected to his body. "… guess I am," he murmured, his Australian accent – or was it something else? – slurring the words. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Jesus Christ." Lamont giggled. This was insane, but maybe it wasn't so bad. Luce could talk, which was good, if "good" meant Luce wasn't catatonic, that someone was home even if all the rooms in the house weren't lit. He was alive, and, despite being dirty, he looked mostly in all right. "Okay, fine. Just tell me what happened."

Luce didn't answer.

Lamont tried to meet his friend's eyes, squeezing his arm to get his attention. "Luce. Tell me what happened, man."

Still his friend said nothing, and Lamont dropped Luce's arm. Anger began to pull ahead in his derby of emotions, and he suddenly thumped Luce on the chest with the Maglite. "Hey, I'm talking to you! What the fuck are you out here for? This some kind of dare? I almost killed you, you shithead!"

"I –"

"You said no drugs while you were at school. You promised! Fuck you if you – "

"I'm not on drugs!" Luce snapped suddenly, shoving at the flashlight. "I was…"

Lamont waited, but when Luce stayed silent, he shook his head, making a rude noise. Laughter trickled out again, though he didn't want it to. He always laughed when he was uncomfortable, it was stupid. "You're saying you're not high? You expect me to believe that?"

"B'lieve whatcha want. I gotta go."

"Go where?" It had to be drugs. Luce didn't act like this most of the time, all vacant and shaking. But then, Luce had _promised_, and Luce didn't lie, not to him. They were rough on each other, but they didn't _lie. _If Luce said no drugs, Lamont had to believe him. But this was fucking crazy, and he couldn't just leave the guy on the road all alone and – and whatever he was. "Hahaha, y'know what, I don't care. I have a job, and you don't have a fucking shoe. Let's just get you back to school –" He took hold of Luce's arm, but the man yanked it back, startling them both.

"No! Fuck no! I'm not goin' back!"

"What? Hey, haha, it's me, Lamont, okay? Don't freak out on me."

Luce's eyes were suddenly wild again, the whites showing. "Fuck you!"

It was dark, and he was late. He had a customer waiting. He had to get back to his job, and he had no idea what was going on. Exasperated, unsure what to think, he said, "Luce, you can't just leave med school, they don't like that –"

"I don' care _what _they like! They can shove their school up their collective arses!" His friend took a step back, then another, middle finger in the air. "If ya come one inch closer, I'm gonna fuckin' kick yer pussy ass –"

Luce went down after one hit to the jaw, collapsing like a sack of bricks. Lamont picked him up, draping him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, and dumped him in the cab of the truck. This was familiar ground, too, except for one thing: the hit.

Luce _never_ went down after one hit.

It was that, more than anything, really, that told Lamont something was seriously wrong.


	2. November 1st

**THE PRESENT**

**NOVEMBER 1****st**

**/WORTH – 22:44/**

Lucius Worth, thirty-four years old and an addict, leaned against the edge of the thick metal slab he liked to call an examination table, wrist-deep in a gut wound and digging around for a shell that refused to be found.

"Could ya make this any harder, love?" he grunted around his cigarette, clamping down hard on the butt. He couldn't be bothered to put the thing out, but he was fairly good at keeping things sanitary. It was all right: a little ash never hurt anyone, and the cigarette went with the appearance he didn't have.

Oh, he'd started out handsomely enough, with a fine set of genes from his model mother and jet-setting father. He'd had a high, clean forehead, soft blond hair, a pointed but strong jaw, and a wry mouth that was given to smiles.

But all that had been long ago, before med school and the drugs.

Now he had a permanent five o'clock shadow, dark smudges under his eyes, teeth that weren't as white as they could've been and a stoop from bending over patients and slumping on the couch. He was six-foot-four if he ever bothered to stand up straight, which he didn't, pale from lack of sun, thin from lack of food, and that cheerful mouth had developed an acidic tongue that liked to write checks his body couldn't cash.

His mother, before she'd died, had called him a wastrel and an embarrassment. His sister called him disgusting, though he suspected she still loved him, because she hounded him every Christmas for a holiday phone call. His father had stopped ringing him up at all.

But all that was of no help to the man on the examination table.

" – fuck, yeah, come ter Papa, darlin'." His fingers closed on the small, hard bead of used lead, and he extracted the slug and tossed it into the metal bowl on the cart beside him. It clanged wetly, blood spattering the inside. Worth didn't care; God had invented antiseptic for a reason. More important was his patient. He'd knocked the guy out with a dose of gas, which was a damn sight better than what he gave most of his patients, but the man was hurt pretty bad. Worth wasn't sure why the idiot hadn't gone straight to the nearest hospital, but he'd turned up here, and Worth could hardly turn the stupid fuck away, not when he was bleeding all over the front stoop.

Besides, without people like the man in front of him, there wouldn't be any money for things like alcohol and drugs, and then Worth would have to get a job like a normal slob, and fuck if anyone was gonna attach the words "wage slave" to his name, ever.

Still, it was going to take more than an "All right, yer in once piece, get outta here." This man was going to need hospitalization and protracted care, and God knew what else. All that doctor shit that Worth didn't want to deal with – except he _was _the doctor, and he didn't have a choice. In this business, reputation was everything. That, and he needed to get paid. Given all these factors, there was only one person Worth could call.

Going to his desk, he shimmied out of the grimy smock he'd worn for the operation, tossing the blood-spattered thing over the chair, and cracked open the drawer that held the phone. He picked up the heavy receiver and fingered the rotary dial.

"You're fucking kidding me."

"I'm not, arsehole. Just grab 'im an' shove 'im in the back. Won't notice a thing. I knocked 'im out good. Be unconscious at least another hour."

Lamont pushed a hand through his hair, a giggle escaping. "You want me to haul this guy to a hospital at nine o'clock at night and drop him off on the sidewalk? Like nobody'd see me? Like they won't notice a goddamn _truck _dropping off a fucking _body_?"

Worth pulled a crumpled package of Davidoffs out of his lab coat pocket and lit a new cigarette from the dying butt in his mouth. He tossed the old one on the floor, crushing it out beneath his shoe. Lamont was tittering like a fucking schoolgirl. The poor shit couldn't control it, and it was a great tell. "Can't fuckin' do it m'self, can I? Stop bein' such a tosser. Just fuckin' do it. I'll pay yer."

"I've heard that before. Luce, you fucked up nutjob, if I take this guy to a hospital, he's gonna kill you when he gets out. They come to your torture chamber for a reason. What about his ID?"

"Thought o' that." Smoke puffed up and out. "Ya kin take care of his name an' what not. Yer done it before."

"And if I don't?"

Worth shrugged. "Then he dies. And it's yer fault."

Lamont stared harder, giggling again. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"

"Fucking Christ, yer a whiner today. What's crawled up yer ass, Princess? Someone shit on yer?"

"No, just got a retard for a friend, that's all."

"Well, then, that's yer problem right there. Hurry it up an' come back, an' I'll see what I can do about the shittin'."

Lamont threw a punch, laughter vanishing as if it had never been, braying a victory noise as the hit landed with a solid thud against Worth's cheek.

Worth fell back swearing as his cigarette went flying, but the scowl didn't stick around. He straightened up, wide, toothy grin sliding back into place as he rubbed the fast-reddening spot. "Yer damn lucky this stiff's payin' me through the nose, or I'd take yer t' fuckin' task right fuckin' now."

"Yeah, right. And I'm not letting you shit on me."

"Today."

"Fuck off." Lamont grabbed the handles of the gurney and started pushing the patient toward the hidden loading bay that ran behind Worth's place. Without looking back, he called into the echoing, industrial space, "You better have plastic wrap this time, you dick."

"Waitin' fer ya in the bedroom, sweetheart," the doctor called back. He waited until the door had clicked shut, and the van's engine had faded away before turning to clean up the mess the bleeder had left on his dining room table. As much fun as blood was, he preferred his own to someone else's.

**/TONI– 23:48/**

_Tramp, waiting for you in the doghouse. Lady._

Toni Ipres looked up from her cell phone before snapping the thing shut and sliding it into her Chanel purse. The place wasn't much of a 'doghouse', really; it was nice. Well-lit with soft lights, large windows that showed the busy city's nighttime streets, and plenty of booths and electrical outlets for the tech savvy. It was a place much like the one her boyfriend had used to hang out at before he'd had to "change careers", as he'd put it, and she liked it. But they'd needed a name, and 'doghouse' was as good as any. Her pet name for him, and his for her, had also been silly, but since they never used them in public, they were cover enough. And she wouldn't ever forget being told that she looked like a sad, adorable puppy when she wrinkled her nose because the coffee shop was out of chocolate croissants.

She'd been waiting for over two hours now, presumably going over the legal documents she had spread out before her on the table, but in reality, she was waiting for a call or text. Usually, when a job was over, he let her know, in their own code, when he'd be back.

So far, there'd been nothing.

She'd texted him just now for the second time, which, was unheard of. It wouldn't have been a big deal for normal people with normal jobs, but Toni was nervous. She tried to tell herself that Hanna and his group had been delayed, that the plane didn't have Wifi, that he was probably exhausted with the time change and had forgotten – but she couldn't bring herself to believe it.

Conrad Achenleck was nothing if not exact. He was the most careful man she'd ever known, which made it even crazier that they were in the situation they were in. Her hand went to her chest and hovered, wanting to move downward along the curve of her chiffon blouse, but she forced it into her lap, where it sat disconsolately. Her fingers ached to run themselves over her body, to feel the changes that the pencil skirt was going to show soon, but she couldn't allow the movement. Not in public.

Soon, she was going to have to "change careers", too. Couldn't be a spy _and_ a mother, not with the type of people she dealt with. She couldn't say she was completely looking forward to that, but when she thought about why, she smiled to herself. They were going to have a baby. _Their _baby.

Their _baby._

After a moment, she glanced down at the documents, sighed, and began gathering them up. It didn't really matter where she was when he texted her. Her phone was still on; she'd hear him the moment the message came through. She should get home, organize tomorrow's delivery and get some rest. People needed the papers she had, and she needed the money they were going to pay her for obtaining them. Life didn't stop just because your boyfriend didn't call you.

Giving herself a strong mental shake, she slid the papers back into their leather attaché case and stood. The coffee cup was normal and white, a typical mug. With a quick swipe of her napkin, she wiped down the outside of it, handle, lip and all. The table she left alone, knowing full well that prints couldn't be lifted cleanly off a public tabletop.

She stood, picked her blue suit jacket off the seat, scooped up the case, and walked out of the café towards home.

**/CASIMIRO – 23:51/**

"You're sure she was in trouble?" Casimiro Maroni asked, thin fingers drumming on the desk. He glanced around the room, his remaining green eye moving quickly, as if whatever "trouble" was around might leap from its hiding spot in the walls and attach itself to his swarthy, skinny frame.

But the Impressionist paintings were still there. The damask curtains were still over the windows, blocking the new morning light from the chintz furniture and the glass tabletops and the mahogany sideboards. Everything was as it should be – except that Adelaide was dead.

His partner nodded, running one finger over his beard. Finas was calmer than Cas, less of a thug than he was a gangster, and Casimiro knew that Finas liked to think that he kept Cas in check… and it was kind of true. Without Finas, Cas would've killed all sorts of people, and done it in a completely stupid way. If he had to tell the truth – not his favorite activity – it was mostly thanks to Finas that the two of them had managed to get this high in Adelaide's empire – and all while hating her guts completely. "Mike said he'd overheard her conversation. She'd told her assistant to pack up ,that they were getting out of town. But –"

"—they never made it, obviously," Cas finished. He straightened up and cracked his knuckles. He had something more to say, something important, but he was a bit of a showman. He needed the right cue. "So she's dead. Shit, I can't believe it. Thought that whore was immortal, the way she ran this town. So – who's next, then? Us? Carlos? If that dick Carlos gets our spot, I'm gonna string up every one of Addy's –"

"Who can say?" Finas shrugged. "It has to be Carlos if they don't choose us."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not gonna let that go down. There's gotta be a way to get everyone we need, even with the Mayor breathing down our necks." He rubbed one cheek as if thinking. "All it'd take is a coupla people in the right department. Maybe we can steal Lenny and Gabe off Addy's payroll. They let me off when they caught me at the horse track, didn't even take me downtown."

"No offense, Casimiro, but I don't think the cops are going to change their loyalties."

"Why not? What do they care?"

"They may have impugned their own honor, but they still like to believe they have some. To switch sides so quickly would look like –"

"Hanna got one." Cas dropped the tidbit of information casually, as if he'd known it for years, and waited to see his companion's reaction.

Finas raised an eyebrow. "Got one what?"

"A cop."

"What cop?"

[i]"_Hanna's[/i]_ cop," Cas said, lip curling, impatient.

Finas looked impressed. "Hanna's paying a cop? I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but somehow I am."

"Not _paying,_ dumbass, are you even listening to me?"

Finas sighed. "I'm listening, Casimiro. Hanna has a cop, but he's not paying him."

"That's right."

"They're just good friends."

"_Yes._"

"… you're talking nonsense again." His partner made a noise of disgust. "If you're going to spread stupid rumours, leave me out of it. You make enough trouble for yourself. I don't need to be –"

"I'm telling you, he's _got _one." Cas leaned forward over the desk, good eye glittering almost red in the lamplight. "He's got one, and we didn't even know about it. I couldn't believe it when he told me."

Finas scowled disapprovingly. "You're being even more ridiculous than normal. _Who _told you?"

Cas smiled, and it felt crazy even to himself, but he was sure of his source. "That guy over at the Rabbit Hole."

"No offense, but I wouldn't trust that one as far as I could throw him – and that isn't far."

"But he'd _seen _him, Finas. From before. He knew him from _before._"

"Before what, exactly?"

"Before he was a cleaner."

"Before he was working?"

"Yeah." Casimiro's smile thinned. "Before he was with Hanna."

**/CONRAD – 23:59/**

It was dark, and he was on a plane. That was all Conrad was really sure of. Well, that and the fact that he was somewhere over Mexico, which didn't do him a lot of good seeing as it wasn't nearly as far enough away as he would've liked, but it was the best he could do on short notice. With any luck, the flight crew wouldn't find him until they reached Honduras, at which point his brilliant escape plan would kick into high gear.

An escape plan he wouldn't have had to use if it wasn't for one Hanna Oops-I-Shouldn't-Have-Been-Fucking-While-On-The-Job Cross.

_It was a simple job, Hanna. Did you really have to mess around right that second? You couldn't have waited a minute? I hate you so much right now. _That was kind of a lie, though. He hated Hanna Falking Cross, yes, but he hated himself more. _ I'm such an idiot for letting you go in dry._

He clenched his jaw and focused on keeping the shifting crates in front of him. His ear plugs helped with the air pressure, but it was still fucking cold. The mylar sheet he'd pulled out of his pack could only do so much. By his estimation, he had another two hours to go, and then the real fun would start. He'd been on the run from Adelaide and lived to tell the tale; how bad could a couple of CIA agents be?


	3. November 2nd

**NOVEMBER 2****nd**

**/LAMONT - 01:23/**

"She's dead, you know."

"Who's dead?" Luce sat on the edge of the bed, heroin-thin and all sharp angles without his bulky trademark coat. He had a cigarette, which was normal. There weren't many times when he was without one.

Lamont was against the headboard, pillows behind him, a sheet covering his bare thighs. He didn't smoke, but he didn't tell Luce not to. It would've been pointless after all these years, and truthfully, he'd grown to like the scent. It reminded him of familiar things. "Addy."

Luce stopped, almost choking on the inhaled smoke. "Adelaide? _The_ Adelaide? Yer fulla shit!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Lamont said back, mocking himself in a deadpan tone. "She's dead, man, I'm serious. Got a full report myself. Happened yesterday. She's in the coroner's office downtown right now."

"That's bullshit," Luce muttered, more in awe than anything. "Adelaide. No fuckin' way." He took another deep drag off the cigarette, exhaling hard. "Betcher fuckin' glad ta hear that."

If he'd taken that at face value, there would've been a fight, but Lamont knew what Luce meant and couldn't really say. "Yeah, well, it is what it is."

"Hanna get 'er?"

"Hanna?" Laughter echoed through the big room, the Chinese screen that marked Worth's sleeping quarters off from the rest of the warehouse doing little to stop the sound from reaching the corners of the establishment. "Oh, God, no. Hanna might've fucked it up, but not as badly as it was. No, they think it was someone on the force that got tipped off. You know, one of those vigilante, I-can't-take-the-system-anymore types."

"Jesus. 'Bout time they got serious, I guess. Unless it's one of the Mayor's assholes."

"Could be. Not sure. Lot of bullets involved, apparently."

His friend exhaled a wobbly smoke ring. "Things're gonna get ugly now that she's gone. That kinda job ain't exactly somethin' ya set up heirs fer."

"They're gonna fight over her legacy, you got that right."

"Legacy. Ha!"

"Hey, you wave enough money at the police…" Lamont trailed off, shrugging and smiling.

Luce shook his head. "Whoever owns the cops is gonna make or break this town, but alla that shootin' makes no fuckin' sense. She's got every cop on 'er payroll, she makes sure she does, Mayor or not. Whoever's givin 'em their money now is gonna stay in control. 'Less Mayor Hatch gets a serious influx o' cash." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Payin' off cops ain't so different from runnin' an election, I guess."

"Guess not."

"Comes down ter charm an' all that bullshit."

It was all well and good to play it cool, but Addy had been something more to Lamont than just a mob boss. Talking about her being murdered, even though they all knew it had to come one day, was upsetting. It was time to derail this conversation into more familiar, safer waters.

"Something a douchebag like you has nothing to worry about."

Luce glanced behind him, wearing what Lamont called his 'go-again' expression. "Yer callin' me a douchebag?"

"You see anyone else in this room, genius? Tsk, gettin' old and stupid to boot. I'm going to have to take you out back and put you out of your misery."

"Only misery here is yer mouthy hole." Luce tossed the cigarette on the floor, where it smoldered slowly against the concrete, and crawled across the mattress, smirking. "Guess I gotta do somethin' ter shut it up."

Lamont left Luce the way he best preferred to: passed out under the covers, sated and safe, cigarette butts completely extinguished. No chance of fire, no chance of disappointment. It might've been silly to feel good about tricking a grown man into some drug-free sleep, but it was one of the things Lamont was good at.

Damn good.

It only took a moment to clean up in the bathroom, to wash the blood and other things off his skin and out of the hair on his arms. He pulled on his clothes, slapped on some deodorant, and swept water through his hair. It refused to be tamed, but it settled down enough for him to not feel like a total slob.

Back in the warehouse, he went to the bed, touched Luce's short hair once, lightly, and left.

He had people to see.

The old truck started smoothly, rumbling like a large cat. He pulled out onto the main road, tuning the radio to the country station. Country music was good for thinking. Simple melodies, uncomplicated lyrics; perfect. And right now, Lamont had plenty of thinking to do.

Adelaide's death had thrown everyone. People were scrambling all over themselves to find out who'd done it, what had happened, and to align themselves with whoever was moving to take over her territory. She had underlings, yeah, but Lamont wasn't sure any of them would be strong enough to step into her shoes. There were a couple of guys he was going to have to watch out for, but no-one amazing. Adelaide had been a … special woman.

She was the one who'd shown him the ropes. She'd let him into her world and made him feel like he belonged.

She'd been his first.

That probably explained why he was so loyal to her. _Had been_ loyal to her. Now that she was gone, there wasn't really anything to be loyal _to. _Certainly not the Mayor. That guy was an asshole, and dangerous besides. To his mind, Lamont didn't owe anyone anything now that Addy was gone. Not a damn thing.

Shaking his head, he changed the station and some kind of easy listening crap filled the cab. Thinking was starting to go in the wrong direction. Better to concentrate on something other than his history with the mob boss. Something more like his next delivery. Tomorrow, after he woke up, he'd have to get over to the other end of town, close to the college he'd attended for a short while, to arrange a delivery. There was a parking lot just inside the main drive, he could park and go from there. Those college kids, they didn't notice shit, and if they did happen to think you were worthy of their attention, they didn't do much more than flip you off.

He chuckled. They'd been like that once, him and Luce. A couple of college kids, not doing much more than flipping people the bird and getting wasted on Saturday nights. Luce had been such a big shot back then. His ego had been stupidly huge, although his hobbies had been considerably cleaner. Lamont had loved to go visit Luce's school to gawk at all the old, fancy buildings and hit on all the smart, pretty girls. He could still remember the smell of the dorm rooms, the way the pool cues were all slightly bent at the Student Center – "Fuckin' rich school oughter replace th' damn things," Luce had always bitched – the rolling lawns and the way the scents of crushed grass and perfume mingled in the night air when you had a girl just where you wanted her. It hadn't felt like it then, but that had been one of the best times of his life.

Now he was a courier, running illegal things to questionable people while hoping no-one was going to shoot him, and Luce was face down in that shitty warehouse he insisted on living in, naked after being fucked up the ass by his best friend, with nothing to look forward to but a day of stitching up thieves and murderers and getting high.

It was enough to make Lamont wish he'd somehow convinced Luce to go back to med school. But if Lamont hadn't quit school himself, he wouldn't have found Luce that night in March, and then where would they all be?

They didn't go back to Luce's dorm that night. Lamont drove Luce to the Toucey house instead, where his mother, used to the ins-and-outs of a young man, did nothing more than wave good-night to them on the way to her room. Unsure what to do, Lamont put Luce in his own bed and went to run the night's errands – including the big job he turned out to be over two hours late for. They let him run it anyway, although for a fuck of a lot less than their agreed-upon price, but what choice did he have? Still, it seemed to go well, and he felt good about it. He even earned a compliment from Adelaide, and that was worth a hundred deliveries. By the time he came back, high on praise and half a bottle of Jack Daniels, Luce was awake, and Mrs Toucey was in the kitchen, just starting lunch.

"How're you feeling?"

Luce sat on the edge of Lamont's bed, still in his dirty clothes, a dying cigarette hanging from his lip. "Fine now."

"Fine." Lamont came farther into the room, kicking the door shut and pushing some clothes out of his path with the tip of one sneaker. "You're fine. Right. Are you fucking kidding me?" He dropped onto the bed next to his friend, scowling. "You remember last night?"

After a moment's hesitation, Luce nodded. "Yeah."

"That it? You know I found you on the street, right? That didn't look like fine."

"An' I toldja I'm fine _now_."

"How about I tell you that you're full of shit?"

"Then I'd tell ya that I'm about ta punch yer in yer stupid fat face, so shut yer goddamn pie hole before I sink my size 12 inter it ."

They glared at each other for a moment, the only movement Luce's cigarette as he chewed on it. Finally, Lamont looked down to the bottle in his hands. He took the cap off. "You serious about not going back to school?"

"As a preacher."

"You suddenly just don't want to be a doctor anymore." He laughed, and immediately hated it as always. "You're really gonna toss two years of med school out the window?"

Luce shrugged. "Don' see what it matters. Learnt enough. All th' rest is jus' shit they make up ter take yer money."

"Right. Neurosurgery, pediatrics, that's all imaginary. I hope my doctor didn't finish med school, 'cause if he did, I'll be seriously disappointed."

"Ya got no fuckin' idear what I'm talkin' about, so shut up like I tolja."

"Exactly what job are you looking to try out for with 'med school dropout' on your resume?"

Luce stared, and his gaze dropped to the bottle in Lamont's lap. "… ya gonna share that, or ya just gonna make love ter it?"

Lamont looked down, still giggling. The bottle was open, the paper label that had lined it now peeled and twisted into a weird pattern by his own anxious hands. " – shit. Yeah. Here." He handed it over.

Luce took it, drained a good sixth of what was left and handed it back, eyes almost crossing. "Fuck. Thanks, shitbag."

"Heh, shut up. I'll still kick your ass, whether you tell me why you're dropping out or not."

Wrong thing to say. Luce clammed up, chewing on his cigarette again, and glared at the floor. Lamont cursed himself and his tactlessness. He really had to learn to be smoother than that. He suppressed a snarl and took a hit from the bottle. There had to be something he could do. He couldn't make Luce talk, and he couldn't let him sit there and be morose his whole life.

Abruptly he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and slapped Luce on his skinny thigh, bruising his hand on the moron's bone. "Okay then. Have it your way. Tomorrow, you start work."

Luce recoiled, looking at him as though Lamont had said the 'W' word – which he had. "Work? Why th' fuck would I do that?"

"'Cause you can't be a homeless loser, no matter what you think. You need a job if you're not gonna go to school."

"No I don't. My dad'll take care of whatever I want. Fuckin' rich, remember?"

"You wanna go crawling back to him? Seriously?"

Luce scowled and grabbed the bottle in answer.

"That's what I thought. So you can work with me. You can help me out."

Luce smirked unexpectedly. "I don't think Burger King's gonna let me come down there an' turn yer fries fer ya."

This time it was a punch in the face. But _this _time, Luce rolled off the bed, hit the floor, and came back up with a grin, blood already spilling out of his mouth. They crashed around Lamont's bedroom, smashing things and beating the shit out of each other until Mrs Toucey banged on the door and shouted at them to knock it off and come have lunch for God's sake.

**/WORTH - 05:09/**

He woke up at five in the morning.

There was a pounding on the front door, the steel one inset in the roll-up garage door meant for trucks, that was strong enough to remind him of Lamont's mother's fury. Worth pushed himself up, shaking off memory-filled dreams with a half smile. He padded naked toward the noise, stretching and savoring the aches that bloomed in different parts of his body as he moved. Grabbing his lab coat off the back of the desk chair, he snagged a gun from the drawer and stood at the side of the door, safety off. "Whaddaya want?" he shouted, slipping the coat on. "I charge double after three, arsehole!"

"Worth, lemme in, man! C'mon, I'm messin' up my suit!"

"…Veser?"

Worth pulled the door open. He stayed behind it, gun up, relaxing only when Veser Hatch was the only thing to come through it. The young man hadn't lied, either: there was a cut on his head that his handkerchief wasn't staunching. Dark blood had run down his face, his shirt sleeve and his collar, and was busy making a mess out of his green suit jacket. "Christ on a crutch, kid, whadja do ter yerself?"

The young man waved a hand as Worth locked up, grimacing as the handkerchief shifted against the blood on his forehead. "I dunno, it was goin' great, then the fucker grabbed his fucking scrub brush, and – " He stopped, brow furrowing. "Man, couldn't ya put on some pants or somethin'? Jesus, yer old junk is the last thing I need to see _ever._"

"Get out."

"Okay, okay, I was just kidding! Uh, I love… old man… balls –"

Worth grunted. "I bet. Get on the table, short stack, and shut the fuck up already. Ya know the drill."

"All right, here." Veser slapped a wad of twenties into Worth's hand. and neither of them minded that there was blood on the bills and on Worth's fingers. "Don't tell Ples, okay?"

Worth snorted and pocketed his payment. "Yeah, 'cause I talk to Mr Death-By-Firebomb all the time. He calls up and we chat about th' weather."

Veser rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. Don't be a dick."

"Stop fuckin' up, then." He found a cigarette and lit it with a quick flick of his lighter. "Now git out. That took way too long. I need m' beauty sleep."

The kid slid off the table. "You really want me to not make a joke about that? When you put it out there like your balls, all naked and – naked?"

"Just git lost."

Ples' prodigy sucked in a breath. "Uh, yeah. About that. I can't. I need to use your couch."

Worth stared. "How 'bout no. Git _out."_

"Aw c'mon! Don't be so stingy! I don't wanna call Toni, and I don't have any money now! You're too damn expensive!"

"Whose fuckin' fault is that, Bright Eyes? I don' care if ya sleep on th' damn street, y'ain't stayin' here!"

"You got plenty of room!" Veser waved his arm at the empty warehouse. "There's no-one else here, and no-one'll know, and besides, your couch is totally available."

Worth was losing patience. He wanted to go to back to bed, and if there was no chance of more cash, then there was no reason to put up with some toddler's crap, even if that toddler had Ples Tibenoch for a daddy. "If ya even touch that couch, I'll make sure ya never touch nothin' ever again. Ya can't sleep if I kill yer."

"Whatever. You know I'd kill you first if you tried. And anyhow, like I said, it's available!" Snickering, Veser darted to the couch and leapt onto it with a whoop - and promptly bounced right off, colliding face-first with the coffee table. He clapped a hand over his newly-sutured wound, but it was too late. Blood spurted over Worth's furniture, and the doctor lost it.

"Motherfuckin' brain dead son of a whore!" He stalked over and grabbed Veser's ear, hauling on it so hard that Veser yelled and tried to hit him. The kid missed, being completely off-balance and in pain, and Worth dragged him to the examination table, furious.

"What the hell was that? Are ya ten years old, ya fuckin' moron? No wonder some target got th' jump on ya, yer as professional as a fuckin' cowpie!"

Veser groaned and leaned against the table, pressing a hand to his head. "Hey, fuck you, dude, that was a fluke, let go of me –"

"An' now yer wastin' my time, like I don't have anythin' else ter do – get on th' fuckin' table, do I hafta tell ya every fuckin' little thing? – an' I might as well patch yer clumsy fuckin' ass up all goddamned day, who cares if ya use up twice the supplies anyone else does –"

"Wow, guys. Only six in the morning, and you're full of energy. Going for the big changes, are we?"

Worth started and glanced over his shoulder at the woman clicking her way across the warehouse floor. Her hair matched her purse, and her purse matched her shoes: black and blue, like the loveliest bruise Worth had ever seen. Her suit was a darker blue, like navy, and her stockings were black. Worth was willing to bet they had lace tops, as well. Maybe they were even gartered, not that elastic shit. Yeah, that'd be nice.

Still, barging in was barging in.

"Git lost, Toni," he said, but there wasn't a lot of real heat to it.

"Hey, babe," Veser grinned from the table. "Lookin' good, girl!"

Toni gave him a faintly mocking smile. She dropped a manila folder onto Worth's desk, then swung her hips over to what passed for a living room in Worth's warehouse and gracefully dropped into the easy chair. "Nice to see you too, Ves. Glad you're all in one piece – mostly."

"What – this? Ha, it's nothin'. Target gave me a bit of a surprise, y'know how it is."

A delicate eyebrow cocked, and Toni put one foot up on Worth's battered coffee table. Her skirt slid up her thigh with a whisper of silk on silk, and Worth shook his head. He didn't need to peep at Toni's panties, fun as it might be. She was taken, and he knew it. He liked to go after things that were actually attainable – and that wouldn't knife him in the back as a way of saying "stop". Not to mention her condition. One thing Worth didn't need to every worry about was a kid. Hanna and Veser were kids enough to his mind. Oh, Toni hadn't _told _him she was preggers, but he could tell. After years of staring at bodies, he'd become extremely adept at spotting signs of change.

"Right," she was saying. "You usually have a hard time?"

"Only when it's necessary. It's getting' pretty hard right now, if you wanna know the truth."

"Really."

"Oh, yeah. Hey, I'm almost done here, I know where there's a great hotel, real close. You an' me, we could make the beast with two backs and be done by lunchtime."

"Wow, Ves, that's so… I don't think romantic's quite the word I want."

"It'll come to ya, if I don't, first," Veser said, smirking.

"Okay, I'll remember that."

Worth cut in. "Both o' yer shut the hell up. I can't work with ya both blabbin' on an' on like a coupla biddies at a fuckin' hair salon. This look like a knittin' club ter ya?"

"Hey, can I help it if Toni's smokin'? How many babes d'ya think I get to look at up close without kill – OW! OW, FUCK, WATCH WHERE YOU STICK THAT!"

Worth moved the needle, pulling it out of Veser's scalp. "Shit, lookit that, I think yer yappin' distracted me. Now shut it." He went back to work, debating making the stitches bigger just to piss the kid off. Maybe some scarring would do him some good. "Didja know Addy's kicked the bucket, Toni?"

The woman tsk'd. "Crazy, isn't it? I didn't believe anyone could ever kill her."

"Prolly owed someone money," Veser muttered, but Worth ignored him.

Toni put both feet on the floor and got up, coming closer. Her voice dropped, and she leaned against the far corner of the examination table. "You know the cops did it, right?"

Worth shrugged, but another brick was loaded onto the wall that supported his faith in Lamont. Damn bastard was always so fast with the information. "Mighta heard somethin'about that. They know which one it was?"

"No." Toni looked disappointed, but she brightened quickly. "But you'll care about what I overheard in the file room."

"Yeah?" He made a knot and cut the thread, then reached for a bandage. "Be a love an' hand me the tape, wouldja?"

"Did ya hear the one about how big my – FUCK, WORTH!"

Worth grinned, showing nicotine-stained teeth. "Do it again if ya keep it up, tadpole. Rip th' rest o' yer hair clean out."

Tape in hand, trying not to smile, Toni said, "They got a tip."

Veser and Worth broke off glaring at each other to stare at her. "A tip?"

"What, from like a snitch?" Veser asked. "Some fucker squeal? Not surprising, considering all the lowlifes she ran with."

"No, that's just the thing. They didn't hear from an informant. They got a call from another cop, one in another _state._"

Worth finished with the bandage. "Yer shittin' me. What th' hell would another cop know about Addy when she's in 'er home town? They were pullin' yer leg."

She shook her head, hair bouncing. "They weren't, they didn't even know I was there. I mean, I wasn't supposed to be there, but that's the point. They couldn't have been making things up."

"Hn." There wasn't much more to say besides that. It was well known – at least amongst those in the know – that Toni had snagged a job at City Hall only because it benefitted her trade, and she never passed on false information; it would've damaged her rep. If she heard something while in that hallowed building, the rest of them took it as near gospel. But it was more than a little odd that a cop that was miles away would know anything about Adelaide and her security situation. "Mebbe the liar just _said _they were a cop. It was prolly someone sellin' her out, just like the asshole here said."

"Good to see you all realize how smart I am." Taped up, Veser slid off the table. His collar still had blood on it, and he looked ridiculous with the white bandage covering half his forehead, but even those embarrassments didn't stop the kid's cocky grin. "All right, I gotta get outta here before Ples wonders where I am. I'm totally not in the mood to be punished. But if you are~?" He waggled his eyebrows at Toni, making the bandage wrinkle.

"I'm taken," she said with a roll of her eyes. "You know that."

"Sure, I heard that you and Tightass are an item," Veser agreed easily, "but that doesn't mean you have to tell him about us. I mean, really, can a guy expect you to give up all the other desserts in the world just 'cause you like his ice cream?"

Almost casually, and definitely without warning, Toni socked Veser right in the face – on the _other _side. Veser went down with a thud and a yowl.

"Damn it, Toni, I was just kiddin'!"

Worth whistled, amused. "Nice o' ya ter not mess up my work."

"I appreciate that other people have to earn a living," she said pleasantly. "You can pay me for the papers later, by the way."

"Will do. Come by tomorrow, I'll have yer money."

With a wink, she patted his stubbled cheek – more for Veser's sake than Worth's, and Worth knew this, and so allowed it– and waltzed out of his "office".

Once Veser was gone, the rest of the day passed in the normal way: stitching up the occasional idiot, selling people things they shouldn't have but did because Worth was more than willing to give them to them, and going over the hospital reports Toni had brought. His patient from the other night had survived, and was going to be released shortly.

Identity safe, patient alive. Excellent. He'd have to share a cut with Monty when the pay came through. He filed the report in a cabinet and went to the couch. Things were slow and boring, and no patients meant two things: TV and alcohol.

**/CASIMIRO - 22:11/**

The photo couldn't be any clearer if they'd tried: Hanna's partner, dark hair, bright shirt, black tie, glass up in some kind of salute.

"It's him, all right," Finas said. "But so what? That could've been taken at any time."

"No. Look." Cas flipped the photograph over. There was an actual date on the back, printed there by the photo processing, and he tapped it with his finger. "Two years ago." He smiled at Finas. "He wasn't with Hanna then."

Finas sighed. "We don't know that."

"No-one'd seen him before last summer!"

"That doesn't mean they weren't working together. It just means that he was out of the limelight." The man sat back, looking out the window. "They could've been together for years."

"Then where'd Elias get the picture, huh?"

"Ebay?"

Cas snorted. He was well aware that Finas was smarter than he was, but at the moment, the man wasn't even trying. "Be serious, Fin, just for a sec, huh?"

Finas gave Cas a flat look. "You're dragging all this garbage out into something that's already messed up, and you're telling me to take you seriously? What do you think all this is gonna get you, Cas? Other than dead, I mean, for pissing off Hanna."

"He thinks he's such hot shit. Little fuck. Look." He picked up the photo, waving it. "If we can find out who his partner is, where the guy worked, which department it was, then we can get rid of Hanna. No-one's gonna trust him if he's got a cop at his back, especially one that's giving everyone away."

"You don't know that he's doing that."

Cas threw his hands in the air, the photo fluttering. "Who else has the connections to every police force there is?"

Finas started ticking people off his fingers. "Toni. Conrad. Becky –"

"Okay, okay, I'm not sayin' it's not one of them, but seriously, Fin, why would any of them turn in any of _us_? If the cops take us, they aren't gonna get any money. And the cops are the ones that're getting all the collars and shooting the crap out of everyone."

Finas leaned back in his chair, hands folded. "Maybe they're pissed at us. I can think of a couple of reasons why."

"But everyone else?"

"... you have a point."

"Then you're with me?"

His partner squinted appraisingly. "Don't think I don't see through you, Casimiro. I know this leads to that damn doctor. You just want to get rid of Worth."

Unconsciously, Cas' hand strayed to his missing eye, brushing over the brow. "Can't say that wouldn't be a perk. If Hanna's gone, then yeah, maybe Worth'll have a little accident. One that involves multiple gunshot wounds to his fucking balls."

"I figured," Finas said. A slow smile crept over his lips. "If you can prove Hanna's partner is a cop, or was, I'll go along with it."

"If I can prove that, we've got it made." Casimiro smiled back. "It'll be the end of Hanna Fucking Cross for good."

**/WORTH - 23:40/**

"Vicodin ES 5? As if!" He gestured with his gun, the Ruger SR9 that was in the middle of getting a good polish, and mimed shooting Gregory House in the head. The rest of the bottle of bourbon sat on the coffee table alongside the cleaning cloth and gun oil, the mingled smells blending with those of antiseptic and Worth's own unwashed body. He didn't notice. "That shit doesn't even come in five milligrams, it comes in seven. Call yerself a fuckin' doctor?"

"Oh, God, you're watching it again." Lamont shut the door behind him, his footsteps echoing into the empty space. He had two sealed boxes under one arm and one open box in the other. "It's one in the morning, I should've known."

Worth flipped the television the bird from his place on the couch, not even bothering to look at his friend or get up. "Didja hear this cunt? Like yer can throw a placebo at a conversion disorder an' everything'll be fuckin' lollipops and rainbows!"

Lamont set the three boxes down, placing the open one on the plastic folding chair next to him. He reached into it as the scent of meatball sandwiches wafted into the air. He pulled one out and tossed it at Worth. "What'd I tell you about this shit? It's make-believe."

"It's a fuckin' joke, tha's what it is," Worth answered, catching the sandwich one-handed as though he wasn't buzzed to the ceiling and back. Gently, he set the gun on the seat beside him and pulled back the aluminum foil, inhaling the wonderful smell. "Ya got Marcelli's. Y'actually remembered."

His friend snorted. "I never forget. You're the one that can't remember where it is, let alone what the hell you like over there."

"Fuck yer mum, ya can't ferget a sandwich like this – fuck, didja catch that one? Why's it always lupus? A monkey with a pencil comin' outta his ass could write a better episode."

"I'm gonna take that sandwich away if you don't turn that shit off right the fuck now. I'm not in the mood to listen to you bitch about television, of all things."

"Then ya can suck my balls." All the same, Worth scooped up the remote and paused the program. It wasn't like the thing wasn't recording. He could finish it tomorrow, if he wanted. He tossed the remote onto the coffee table and took a bite of his sandwich, talking around the food. "And yer can tell me about this police shit that's goin' down. Toni knows more than yer do about it, wager."

"I don't know anything Toni doesn't know."

"Yer full of it."

"Eat your dinner. Breakfast. Whatever it is. And pay me for that crap on the floor. I don't run a charity."

Worth stopped before taking another bite, eyebrow up. "Someone's got a stick up his ass. What th' hell happened out there today, someone take yer first kiss without askin'?"

Lamont licked a bit of sauce from the outside of his sandwich. "Lost my virginity long before you did, Luce."

"Yer dog don't count, how many times do I hafta tell ya?"

"That joke gets funnier every time you tell it." Lamont bit determinedly into his dinner. "Gimme a beer, shithead."

"Get it yer damn self, I ain't yer wife."

"Gimme a beer, and I'll tell you what happened."

"…" Well, fuck. Lamont sure knew how to push buttons, the crafty bitch. There wasn't a lot of 'going out' involved in Worth's day-to-day operations; if someone who'd been 'outside' had a story to tell, they could usually bribe their way into anything from Worth's liquor cabinet to his knickers. It was just plain luck that no-one but Lamont and Hanna had figured that out. "… tell me what happened, and if it's worth it, I'll get yer fuckin' beer –"

"Worth?"

The door swung open across the way, a shadow stretching over the floor, framed by yellow security lights. The Ruger was in Worth's hand before anyone could blink, and Lamont's own FNX-9 glinted behind his sandwich.

"What th' hell is this, National Bother Me Day? What th' fuck do yer want?"

The slight figure in the doorway took another step in, and the lights from inside eliminated the shadows across his face.

"Cash?" Lamont stood, setting the sandwich down. He didn't put his gun away, though. "What happened?"

"The cops happened," Cash said.


	4. November 3rd

**NOVEMBER 3****rd**

**/CASH - 00:02/**

He was shaking. Blood was running down his chin from the split in his lip, filling his mouth with the nasty tang of metal. One hand was pressed to his chest, and he hissed under his breath as he pushed the door closed. His fingers brushed the deadbolt, but dropped away without turning it. This wasn't his house, wasn't his place, and damn, he did _not _want to get banned from Worth's, expensive though the doctor was.

Already Worth had gone to the metal monstrosity that served as his examination table. His white coat was back on, fur standing up like a scared, filthy cat along the back of his collar. Cash would've laughed if he hadn't hurt so much.

"On the block," Worth ordered. "What th' fuck happened? Didn't expect ter see yer arse around here. Yer one o' the smarter ones."

"Told you." He forced his legs to take the few extra steps to the table. They didn't want to go anywhere, had already walked a mile to get here, but they held him up the rest of the way. Good legs. Good boys.

He was too short to hop onto the table in his current state, and Worth and Lamont were too masculine to give him any assistance. That'd be cool, normally, but right now Cash was a little tired, and he wished he had enough guts to order them to help him. As it was, they waited while he struggled onto the scratched surface, scooting back.

Worth took the time to put on latex gloves, snapping them into place, which earned him odd looks from both Cash and Lamont. "Lay down."

"So?" Lamont prompted.

Cash looked up, squinting into the bright light of a lamp Worth switched on. It felt like he was at the dentist. Lamont leaned against the table while Worth got busy with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and some gauze, dabbing it over the cuts on Cash's cheek and eyebrow. He hissed as the liquid came in contact with his skin.

Lamont tried again. "You said cops were involved?"

"Ouch – yeah."

Worth kicked Lamont in the shin. "Stop makin' 'im talk, yer rippin' platlets. Ya fuckin' know better."

"Then do his mouth last," Lamont shot back, kicking Worth in the back of the knee. "You like that, anyhow."

"How 'bout I do yer mum's arse?"

"How 'bout I break your nose again, lush?"

Worth threw an elbow, catching Lamont on the cheek, and cackled. "Get the hell outta my operatin' room." The delivery man stumbled back a step, cursed under his breath, and went back to the couch, dropping onto it and taking the TV off 'pause' with a defiant click. House's snark filled the dead air. Worth, still smirking over his victory, went to the sideboard and grabbed the bandages. With a care that belied his appearance, he meticulously patched each cut, taking his sweet time. It stung in places, downright _hurt _in others, but Cash kept his mouth shut. He didn't need to get smacked on top of everything else.

"… a'right, yer gonna burst if ya don't spill it, so go ahead." The doctor tossed the leftover snips of tape and bandage into a small trash can close to the table and pulled his gloves off.

"I didn't do anything," Cash said quickly, though it hurt to speak so fast. Again the stabbing pain in his chest, toward the left, but he ignored it. "I was just minding my own business."

"I'm sure ya were," Worth said. A cigarette had appeared between his lips, and his lighter snapped. The flame danced just before the cigarette, and he stooped a bit more than usual to reach for it. "So what'd they want in yer place?"

"I don't know. They were crazy. Three of 'em, and they kept talking about taking all of us down. I don't even know who 'us' is! But they were serious, and..."

He trailed off. He remembered the past few hours way too clearly. It was the downfall of being a good businessman, really. Being able to recall things he wished he couldn't.

The ball python's tank was clean, and the thing was fed. Cash checked the girl off his list, thinking that it was lot easier to deal in things people _thought _were illegal than in actual illegal things, but hey, he went where the money was. If some silly woman thought ball pythons were an endangered species, then more power to Cash. He was gonna get her for as much as he could squeeze out of her. No pun intended.

The rest of his cargo looked like it was all in one place, too, though again, it was more normal this time: cartons of cigarettes, boxes of plain white t-shirts, some DVDs still in the cardboard cartons that Wal-Mart shipped them in. Things that he got for cheap and helped others to sell, but at a higher price. Reselling was the name of the game.

Whistling, he stepped out of the back room, ready to close up the liquor store that fronted for his 'side' business.

… okay, well, it wasn't really his liquor store in the first place, and maybe his uncle had no idea that Cash was running a side business out of it, so he _had _to take care of it and close it up right, or his uncle would fly back from Tennessee and kick his ass, but _still._

He took the key out of his pocket, strolled to the front door, checked his watch – yep, two am exactly – and unlocked the folding gate. He pushed it back enough to unlock the door, stuck the keys in his pocket and was just about to push the gate all the way home when the front door opened.

"Hey, man, sorry, we're closed. You're gonna hafta – HEY!"

The man who came in the door did not wait. He shoved Cash into the store, and two more men in sunglasses and blue uniforms poured in after him, blocking the entrance. They were in shadow, the overhead fluorescents hitting their craggy faces in a weird way, and Cash tripped over his own feet, hitting the linoleum with a squeak.

"What the FUCK, dude, fine, I'm OPEN, just relax!" His eyes darted over the figures. No badges. No name tags. Cop-quality guns, nightsticks, walkie-talkies. If these guys weren't cops, they were doing a bang-up job of faking it. If they _were _cops… he was in trouble.

"Charles Monterey?"

"Naw, man, Cash, call me Cash." He sat up, drawing his legs in close before slowly standing. Three. There were three maybe-cops in his uncle's store. _Three._ "You guys need something?"

"We need to talk to you."

"Oh. Uh, don't you need a warrant or whatever? I don't hafta answer anything without –"

They were fast. The first one stepped aside as the second one was moving. And before Cash could blink, a train buried itself in his gut. He staggered, gagging, and the second punch did it. His dinner poured onto the floor, and the cop stepped back, letting him fall. He missed the mess by inches.

"I think you'd better answer my questions, Charles, or you'll be sorry you didn't."

"You—can't –" Cash coughed, and they laughed.

"Oh, but we _can._"

"Fuckin' snivelers," another one said. Even their voices were similar. "Let's just take him in."

"Fuck that, let's just shoot him. Lookit ''im, he's gotta have a gun around here somewhere. We can bust 'im for –"

The first one held up a hand. "Not today, gentlemen. We're here just for a chat. Don't get excited." He bent down, squatting on the heels of his black boots. "First question, Chaz."

"Cash," Cash said weakly. The stench of the vomit right beneath his face was burning his nose.

"Right. Cash. First question. Where's Hanna Cross?"

Cash blinked. That was as far from the first question he was expecting as it could get, and it was both tons safer and tons more dangerous than any other question could be. Perspiration popped out along his hairline. "I dunno," he said honestly, and cleared his throat. "Do I know 'im? You got a picture?"

The cop backhanded him. Cash felt his cheek tear against his teeth, and the taste of copper blossomed on one side of his tongue.

"You don't need a picture, smartass. You know exactly who I mean."

"I don't! What the fuck, how can I know if you don't have a fucking picture?"

The cop motioned, and the third one stepped up, kicking Cash in the side.

"Ugh!" He fell sideways, pain erupting along one side, and then there was another kick, and a sharper, weirder pain that crackled.

"Answer 'im, ya goddamn piece of shit!"

"Hey, back off!" The first cop held out his hand again, still peering at Cash. "You see? I can't keep 'em in check forever. You know Hanna Cross, and we know you know him. If you don't want to tell me where he is, then I suggest you move to another town, because you're not gonna be safe in this one anymore."

Cash didn't answer. What could he say? If he told anyone that he'd ever even _seen _Hanna, he'd be dead – by Hanna. And if he didn't say anything, then –

"He's not gonna talk, he's too stupid."

"Let's get outta here."

Thank God. If they left now, then Cash's stock would be okay, and his uncle would never know, and he could clean up and rinse out his mouth –

He had relaxed, and the next kick caught him by surprise. The things that had crackled before snapped. Cash's vision blanked to something completely white, and he screamed.

The cops chuckled. The one kneeling beside him stood, and the one doing the kicking added one last blow to Cash's arm. "Take the warning to heart, kid. We've got a handle on all you assholes, and we're not going to let you run your petty schemes and your swindles and your cons any more. This town's going to be clean, got it? We have a way in now, Charles. We got someone. You and all your kind are living on borrowed time."

If there was another kick, Cash didn't feel it. The cops left the same way they'd come in, and Cash stayed on the floor, tears leaking down his cheeks. He couldn't cry. Hanna wouldn't cry.

But Cash wasn't Hanna.

**/LAMONT - 00:23 /**

"And that's it?"

"Yeah," Cash said. "That's all. I don't even get it. Who the hell would ever tell 'em to come to my place? I don't know where Hanna is! No-one knows where that guy is, he's like Batman."

Lamont kept his eyes on the television, but he wished he knew what Luce was thinking. They both knew that the police were a big part of this, but Lamont hadn't anticipated any true rogue activity. It seemed he'd underestimated the speed that information could travel at. Cops that were sick of crime were ready to move, and they'd made their first move into the open. It was a challenge.

"Hurt here?" Luce asked, pressing thin fingers into Cash's side. Cash made a sound like a cross between a coyote and a little girl, and Luce nodded. "Broken ribs. Yer friends did a great fuckin' job." He went back to his shelf. "Gonna hurt like a motherfucker when I tape it. Be ready, and sit up."

Cash swallowed another whimper, and Lamont stood. "'S'okay, Cash. It doesn't hurt that much." He came closer and leaned against the table, jerking his chin at Luce's back. "He's had to tape me up a coupla times. Just grit your teeth, you'll be fine."

"Yeah?"

Lamont nodded, smiling reassuringly. It was sad how desperate Cash seemed for comfort. Then again, he was a young one. Twenty-one wasn't that old for someone who wasn't born into The Business.

Although, now that he thought about it, he'd been sixteen when Adelaide had approached him, so who was he to talk?

"A'right, Monty, scoot the fuck back. A body'd think ya'd never seen me workin' before. What the fuck's made yer so needy, huh? I'm too busy ter holdjer hand right now."

"Heh. Sorry. Just talking."

Cash pushed himself up. "Lamont?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think that –"

"Lift yer arms, I gotta take yer shirt off, 'less ya wanna do it on yer own."

"Oh." Cash raised his arms so slowly that Lamont felt the pain it cost to do it. Luce pulled the soiled polo shirt off and tossed it on the floor before dragging the first length of sports tape off the roll. Cash's breath hitched as Luce slowly wound the tape around a chest that was thin and tan and bruised twelve ways to Sunday.

"Do I think what?" Lamont asked, trying to get the kid's mind off his injuries.

Cash blinked, pale under the bandages on his face. "I guess I shouldn't be asking, but – d'you think that those guys were telling the truth? That – that the cops really have someone telling them stuff? About us?"

Lamont looked down, studying his shoes. What could he say that wouldn't scare Cash, but wouldn't make him think he was totally safe, either? If the kid was careless then bad things could happen, and he liked Cash well enough to not want anything unnecessary to get in the way of the kid's life. "… I dunno. Maybe? They might have someone who's squealing. At a time like this, with Addy gone and Hatch fortifying things, maybe there's someone who's taking advantage of the confusion. It could be dangerous out there."

Luce snorted. "World ain't a nice place, boys. Learned that a long time ago. But sellin' out yer own, that's low." He glanced at Lamont, mouth twisting. "And somehow, not unexpected. Whaddaya wanna bet it's someone we know? The names Ass and Fucker come to mind."

Cash glanced from one to the other. "Who?"

Lamont rolled his eyes. "He means a couple of thugs. Don't worry about it. You're lucky it was the law that ran into you, and not someone else."

"Yeah, real lucky," Cash said morosely.

"Finished," Luce announced, and stepped back. "Ya got cash, Cash?"

"Great joke." This time it was clearly sour, and Lamont laughed aloud.

"Got balls, Cash, I like that. Knew you had them in there somewhere."

"He needs ta have about two hundred dollars in there," Luce said, puffing on his cigarette.

Cash swallowed. "Two hundred? Right now?"

Luce stared, blowing smoke in Cash's direction. "Yer think I'm a free fuckin' clinic? I don't do herpes, an' I don't do free work. Fork over the dough, or –"

"Okay, all right, Jesus, Luce, can it." Lamont pulled out his wallet and fished two crisp hundred dollar bills from its folds. "Here. Paid. Now shut up about it."

"Hey, Lamont, don't –" Cash protested, putting a hand out with a wince.

Lamont returned the wallet to his pocket, but held the bills out, wagging them at his friend. "You wanted this, didn't you?"

Luce stared at the bills, then at Lamont. "Eat shit," he said, and went around the desk and back to the shelf.

"Luce? You saying you don't need these?"

"Fuck yer Da, arsehole."

Lamont grinned and winked at Cash. "Okay, if you say so." The hundreds went back into his pocket. "You need a cab, Cash?"

"Um – yeah. I guess? Uh – I didn't – I mean – actually, I'm gonna walk."

That got Luce's attention right back where Lamont didn't want it. His friend turned, hands full of pill bottles, expression thunderous. "Yer gonna walk? Did yer just say _walk _ter me?"

"No, whoa, man, I wasn't – I mean, it's not far?" Cash tried, alarmed.

"Luce –"

"I just spent however many minutes patchin' yer stupid ass up, an' yer gonna _walk_? Is yer house around the corner, fucko?"

"It's just over on Kramer –"

"Kramer? That's five blocks from here!"

"_LUCE."_

"_WHAT_?"

Lamont hadn't had a stare-down with Luce since two weeks ago when he'd finished off the last of the cherry Italian soda and denied it, but they shared a good, hard one now. Luce either too goddamned stingy or too bleeding-heart helpful. The bastard would sure as shit make Cash pay him up front, but now he was having some kind of fit 'cause the kid wanted to walk home. Then again, maybe it was just about Luce's work getting messed up. Wouldn't put it past the bastard, not when he'd been drinking. "I'll take him, all right? So shut up already."

Luce cocked an eyebrow. "Thought that takin' people places was too _dangerous_. Thought yer might get _caught _by somebody."

Lamont gave him a flat look, suddenly remembering that he wasn't in the mood to take any bullshit. "My sandwich is cold, and you're pissing me off. Are you gonna be that petty right now?"

Luce looked away, made a rude noise and stalked across the empty space of the warehouse, into the unlit portion in back.

"Uh, hey. He's not gonna hate me now, is he? 'Cause I don't need any more people hating me. And I don't have health insurance."

"Nah." Lamont drew his keys out of his pocket and jingled them slowly. "He just hates to lose. C'mon, I'll take you back to your place."

Cash's store was only a couple blocks from his apartment, but, with respect to Luce, who would throw another fit if he found out Lamont had contradicted him, Lamont told the kid not go back to work for a few days. Cash had agreed readily, and gone stiffly up the walk to his apartment complex.

Lamont watched him, waiting until the kid had let himself into his place. He put the truck in gear and was about to head home when his cell phone rang, an unfamiliar jingle surprising him. 'Mr Postman'. Jesus, Luce thought he was funny. He rolled his eyes and answered it. "Yeah?"

"I want to know how it's going."

The voice on the other end of the line was not Luce, and it made Lamont sit up straighter. He glanced out his windows, casually leaning on the door to lock it. He couldn't see anyone on the street. "Fine. Everything you ordered will be delivered on time, just like I promised."

"Good. By the way, I'm very pleased with the first product. Keep up the good work, and you'll be handsomely rewarded."

It almost killed Lamont not to giggle into the phone. "Nothing but the best for my clients."

"Good to hear. I'll be in touch."

The phone went dead, and Lamont stared at it a moment before the laughter poured out.

**/WORTH - 10:44/**

Someone was banging on the door. Again.

Worth groaned as he came awake and fumbled around the junk next to his mattress. He couldn't remember if he'd been drunk or not when he'd gone to bed, but he was pretty sure he wanted to be drunk now. His head ached, and something had died in his mouth while he'd been asleep. Where _was _it? Cell phone… box cutter… magazine….

Ah – there the damn thing was.

His hand closed over the smooth glass of a bottle – he wasn't sure _what _bottle – and he shook it. Something liquid sloshed around inside.

It would do.

He sat up, unscrewing the cap. No cork, so it wasn't wine. Whatever it was, it smelled like paint thinner and tasted like the same. It went down with a burn, disintegrating the nasty taste on his tongue and evaporating the membranes off his throat. Within seconds, a delicious, familiar warmth slid down into his legs, and he grinned.

"Tha's the stuff. Good mornin', world."

He finished what was in the bottle in two swallows, then pushed himself to his feet. A glance down told him he not only had twenty toes today, but he'd fallen asleep in his clothes, which was unusual. Naked was the only way to go to bed as far as Worth was concerned – but a second look at the bed told him Lamont hadn't been there. Fat bastard hadn't come back, and the lamp was still on, which meant Worth hadn't really gone to bed, he'd just plain passed out.

"Adorable," he muttered to himself. "Waitin' up like a blushin' bride. Fucker's gonna get an earful when I see 'im. Oughter fuckin' call next time."

The buzz from ... whatever it was peaking as he made his way to the source of the banging. His vision went from double to triple and back again, and he put a hand out, using any furniture he encountered to help him along and hold him up while he shouted back. "Jesus, I'm here, shut up! If this is somethin' about religion or fuckin' cookies, I'm gonna fuckin' punch someone."

He pulled the door open to the late morning sun, squinting as the rays tried to stab his eyeballs with skewers of light. "Jesus, it's fuckin' too early fer this shit –"

"Worth, you quack, thanks for openin' up!" The man at the door, tall, skinny and looking like Hollywood's idea of a gangster, grinned and tossed a cigarette into the street. They were both in expensive suits, well-groomed and smelling of Axe.

Worth abruptly tried to slam the door, his nose wrinkling like as he caught a whiff of their cologne. "Get the fuck outta here, Cas. Yer smell like a pile of dead flowers, ya dumbshit."

"Right," Casimiro snickered. He pushed back, and with Finas' help they easily overpowered Worth. The doctor staggered back, socks skidding on the cement floor, and Casimiro grinned as he sauntered into the warehouse after his partner, pausing to kick the door shut. "Because you're a fuckin' bed of roses. I could smell you through the door."

Worth glared at the two – wait, four – no, two again – of them. "Yer not allowed in here, and ya fuckin' well know it. Get lost!"

Casimiro's eyes widened in fake surprise. "I don't think the doctor knows who he's talkin' to, Finas."

The shorter, thicker of the two didn't smile, but the curve of his beard made it look like he did. "He's smarter than he looks. Or smells."

"Hardee-fuckin'-har. A'right, arsehole, whaddaya want? And say it quick, 'cause whatever it is, ya both can go fuck yerselves, so ya might as well just leave and not bother."

"We don't need anything you're sellin', old man. We just got a coupla questions."

"What is this, Jeopardy?" Worth said. "Take a fuckin' hike."

"Or we could just kill ya and get on with it," Casimiro snarled, but Finas put a hand against his partner's chest.

"Not right now. Answers first, Cas."

Casimiro leaned into Finas' hand, lip curling, before he shook his suit jacket out, dusting invisible lint from the sleeves. "…fine. Answers. All right, Worthless. Where's Hanna?"

Worth stared. "Is it a full moon? Why th' hell would anyone ever tell anyone where Hanna is?"

Finas raised an eyebrow. "So you know?"

"Christ on a pogo stick, no, o' course I don't!" Worth rolled his eyes, and the room rolled with them, bringing an unwelcome wave of euphoria. He shut his eyes and rubbed them as if exasperated, but the surge of panic he was hoping for, the one that would chase away the buzz , did not come. Instead, like his asshole best pal, he felt like laughing.

What the fuck had been in that bottle?

"Headache?" Casimiro asked solicitously.

Worth dropped his hand and glared, trying to look serious. "Yeah, _you_ two fucks. I dunno where Hanna is, no-one does, so get th' fuck –"

Of all people, he somehow hadn't expected Finas to hit him. The blow landed solidly alongside his head, barely missing his ear. His balance was already shit, and now he toppled over, barely avoiding the cart he used to hold his medical supplies and hitting the floor hard with his shoulder. Pain shot up his left arm and over his right cheek, and he burst out laughing.

"Hanna," Casimiro said again, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt.

Worth twisted, kicking out, and caught Casimiro in the knee with his shoe. The other man gave a shout of pain, and Worth grabbed his wrist as the retaliatory punch swung his way, grinning and dizzy and happy.

"Let go, freak!"

"Get outta my place!" God, this was _fun!_

Casimiro tried to twist his arm out of Worth's grip, furious. "Hanna's cop, where is he?"

"Fuck yer fat pal there."

Finas punched him from the side – he should've been watching, but everything was so funny, shit! - this time in the mouth. Blood flew as his lip split, bright red drops pattering on the floor and down the front of his short-sleeved button-up. He staggered away from Casimiro and Finas caught the front of his shirt. Worth shoved an elbow in his face, catching him in the jaw, and the man grunted. His grip stayed firm.

Casimiro shouted, "Hanna's partner, the cop, tell us where they are!"

Cop? Hanna had a cop? And his partner knew where he was? "What the fuckin' hell are you talkin' about? Ya gone off the fuckin' deep end, Cas, and ain't no savin' yer now. Hanna an' a _cop_, Jesus –"

Casimiro was seething. "It's his _partner,_ you goddamned faggot, his partner's the one selling us all out, and you wanna keep defending them? They're selling us ALL out, and laughing all the way to the bank!"

Worth kneed Finas in the crotch, and damn if he didn't let go in a hurry then. Finas fell back, tripping over Worth's cart, and Worth whooped as it and the fat man went ass over heels, the whole mess crashing to the floor. Smiling wickedly, giggling enough to make Monty proud, Worth advanced on Casimiro, fists up. "Kickin' yer ass, scarecrow, yer goin' down –"

"Hanna's partner, _now_, or you're _dead –"_

"Up yer ass an' around th –"

This time the hit was too close to his temple for comfort. Worth blinked against the sudden darkness, struggling to stay awake as his knees buckled. This was bad. This was hilarious. Cas was fast. This was _bad_—

The door slammed open, the noise and light and yelling almost exploding what was left of Worth's brain. Casimiro shouted something, and maybe Finas did, too, but what Worth heard before anything else was a deep voice saying, "Police! Is there a problem here?"

**/CASIMIRO - 11:07/**

Casimiro grabbed Worth, hauling him halfway off the floor. "What'd I say, huh? It's true! He's a traitor and you're in on it –"

Worth bared teeth in a bloody grin. "Getcher cops outta my place, ya dick."

The cops stepped farther into the warehouse, and Cas felt the sudden urge to keep punching the traitor. Worth had to know about it, the fuck knew about everything, and here were the damn cops, probably on Hanna's payroll, or his filthy partner's, ready to save the doctor at a moment's notice. It was just like the guy at the Rabbit Hole had said. Hanna's cop was ratting everyone out –

The taller one, the one with the two-toned dye job and the cheap suit, motioned with his gun at Cas, who bared his teeth. "I think that you had better take your hands off him, and explain to me what is happening."

Casimiro stared at them – and promptly popped Worth in the mouth one more time. Fresh blood spilled over Worth's lip, metallic and red, and a surge of vicious joy burned through Cas' stomach.

"Jesus Christ, Cas!" Finas snapped, and grabbed his partner's arm. Cas jerked away, but it was too late. The cop in front drew first, fast, and the one in uniform blues followed.

"That was only _phrased _as a suggestion," the one in the suit said. His face was like wood. "I'd appreciate your cooperation."

Fucking cops. Fucking interference. Cas wanted to draw his own gun and blow a hole in every head in the place except for Finas'. He should've just drawn on Worth in the first place, but the guy was clearly toasted, and if it hadn't been for the damn police, they would've had him crying for his mother by now.

All the same, Casimiro wasn't looking to get shot himself. That was probably Worth's sleazy fetish. Lip curling, he let go of Worth's coat. The doctor hit the floor in a heap, limbs everywhere like a broken marionette. Awkwardly, he sat up, chuckling and rubbing his jaw, and Cas sneered.

The cops weren't amused. The taller one moved closer, gun still out, and the uniformed one followed. "Now. I'd appreciate an explanation."

Worth glanced up at Casimiro. Finas glanced at Worth. "… my cousin's an asshole," Worth said.

Casimiro jerked against Finas, mouth flying open, but his partner cut him off. "He's been drinking."

"Won't happen again," Worth added.

The one in the suit looked anything but convinced. Reluctantly, he lowered his weapon, studying all three of them as if he could see through them.

Blond Uniformed Guy spoke up, his voice the pussy tenor Cas had been expecting. "I – I think the two of you should leave."

"Yeah?" Casimiro snorted. "What if we don't want to?"

The suit shrugged wide shoulders. "I'd be more than happy to continue the conversation, if you'd rather."

Damn cops and their freakin' interference. Buncha turncoats. Buncha backstabbers.

Worth got to his feet, slightly unsteady, and waved at the door. "Might as well get outta here, Cassie. I'm done talkin' ter ya anyhow."

Cas bridled. "Like fuck we're -!"

Finas appeared to have hit his limit. He smacked Casimiro in the chest, glaring from beneath low brows. "That's fine. We're done."

They were so close! Worth was gonna crack any second, if they could just go a little farther. "But the –"

Finas dropped his voice so the cops wouldn't hear, but it still rankled. "No, Cas. It's time to go home."

Casimiro tensed, but something in Finas' expression changed his mind about mouthing off. He could only push so far, and he knew it. If Finas got really pissed, Cas was in for a hard ride home. "… fine. It's boring here anyhow." He shot a meaningful look at Worth, who ignored it, and walked toward the door. The cops watched him, the suit's finger straying back to his trigger.

Stupid cops. Stupid Worth.

They let Cas and Finas leave, and the only joy in it was that Worth was stuck inside. Ha. There was more than one way to find Hanna Cross and his ex-cop partner, whether Worth wanted to co-operate or not.

**/WORTH - 11:20/**

"So," Worth said finally, forcing both eyes to focus on the police," I expect you officers're busy. Don' wanna keep ya or nothin'."

Blue Boy stepped forward, making a show of holstering his gun. His hands were up, as if Worth was a kid – or had a gun or something secreted on his person. "Sir, if this kind of violence goes unreported, it usually continues – even escalates. If someone is hurting you, you can –"

Worth stared, keeping a laugh in only by sheer nailbiting willpower. "I ain't gonna press charges, buddy. Keep yer lawful hard-on in yer pants." Speaking of pants…

He patted himself down, looking for his cigarettes. Even after the fight and the fuckin' cops, he was still ridiculously high. Not a good state of mind to be in when Fairfield's Finest wanted a word with you. At least he'd had the good fortune to fall asleep in his clothes, so there oughta be – yeah, there they were. The nicotine would help, if only a bit. He started to reach for the cigarettes, then stopped, giving the cops a broad smile. "Mind if I smoke?"

K-Mart – because leave it to the cops to make a suit look cheap– looked like he wanted to say no. Then he decided to make everyone wait as he slowly put up his weapon and secured it. He went to the door, locked it, and crossed back through the room before saying at last, "I'd still like to ask you a few questions."

Jesus, this was going on way too long. He wasn't going to be able to hold it together much longer. And ugh, if this guy wasn't going to say no, then Worth was having a fag. "Gonna have a cigarette now, if yer don't mind."

"I assume this is not a public building, so I won't stop you." K-Mart paused. "Would you like me to get you something for your face?"

He shook out a stick, stuck it in his mouth, and lit it. It stung his lip and made his cheek ache. "Didn't think cops had a sense o' humour," he said, giggles trickling out with the smoke. "Do I get ter say somethin' about yer face, now?"

"I was serious, but if you aren't bothered, neither am I." K-Mart glanced back at the door. "So. Your cousin?"

"Yup. Arsehole, like I said." The cigarette was helping. He inhaled hard and went over to the cart, righting it and making a face at the mess. At least the hydrogen peroxide was still in its bottle, and the gauze was sealed. Less to clean up.

K-Mart surveyed the room, expressionless. "And what is it the three of you were doing here?"

"Fuckin'. Whaddaya care?"

"Routine follow-up, sir," Blue Boy put in, anxious to be noticed, Worth supposed. Couldn't blame him. K-Mart was stealing the show. "We just want to make sure that you're safe."

"Safe as houses, son. Well, don't wanna hold yer up, as I mighta mentioned."

"Well. If that issue is taken care of." K-Mart motioned toward the green metal tank leaning up against the wall. "Would you mind showing me a license for the halothane in that tank?"

…Shit.

_Shit._

"What th' fuck is halothane?" He tried to sound casual, but Worth didn't need this, not now. How the hell did the cop even know about halothane? No-one outside of a vet clinic oughta have any idea what that was. Who _was_ this guy?

K-Mart didn't answer, and he didn't let up. He moved farther into Worth's space, studying everything on the walls, eyeing the metal table. "...What is it that this warehouse is used for...?"

"Tolja, fuckin'. Got a warrant, officer?"

The cop's eyes were cold. "No, but I have quite a bit of probable cause. Especially when you have an either dangerous, or dangerously mislabeled, canister that you, by your account, know little about. I wouldn't want your… _actors _endangered. Officer." He didn't even spare Blue Boy a glance, but his voice snapped out, and the uniformed cop jumped. "Please take this man's statement while I take a look around."

The high was disintegrating into sluggishness, and Worth felt the first stabs of pain from the fight starting to bite into his body. "I got nuthin' ter say, except yer friend's gonna get yer in a shitload o' trouble."

Blue Boy obediently pulled out his notebook. "If I could just have your name, sir, and a few pieces of contact information –"

"Fuck you."

K-Mart stopped in front of the shelves. "Are you the one who leases or owns this building, sir?"

"Don' remember."

"Hmm. That's quite a problem, for both of us. You may have to come with us - that is, until you remember."

Blue Boy chirped, "Do you _remember _your name, sir?"

"Yeah, up yours!" Worth tossed the cigarette to the ground. "Enough with the play-actin'. A family fight ain't probable cause, an' ya know it. Yer gotcher fun, now get out."

K-Mart's expression didn't change. "I heard what I felt was someone in distress. I came in unchallenged through an unlocked door of an arguably business-zoned building. And now that I am inside, I find an apparent amnesiac and a collection of chemicals for which I am not shown a license. I feel it is unlikely that a jury of our peers would take your side in this."

The cop had him by the short and curlies, and Worth knew it. _Fuck_. Now that he was coming down, his brain felt like it was clogged with Jell-O. He could get out of jail easily enough - probably- but this was gonna mess with his _business_. If he could only _think. _"Whaddaya want."

"Just a name." K-Mart left the shelf, coming close to Worth. He pulled a photocopied piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. There, in crappy black-and-white police pencil, was Conrad Achenleck.

Worth's heart, so far having survived drugs, alcohol and anything that came in a spray can, now abruptly stopped. This was no longer even remotely funny. He dug frantically into his brain, which only seemed to give under the pressure like a soggy biscuit. He needed something to say. Something that wasn't going to get anyone in trouble. Something _smart, _for God's sake. He'd gone to fucking Harvard, hadn't he?

"Adelaide."

He took another drag off the cigarette and blew the smoke right at the picture, resisting the urge to turn away. Why the hell had he said that? All right, whatever. That would work. It was a safe name. Dead name. _Girl's_ name.

K-Mart's eyes narrowed. "Adelaide is not a man's name."

"No shit, Sherlock."

The cop's mouth tightened. His eyes wandered over the room one more time, and then he refolded the paper and slid it back into his inner coat pocket. "… all right." He produced a business card case – and actual _case,_ who the hell _was _this guy? – took a card out, and held it out to Worth. "In case your cousin threatens you again. Or for any other reason."

Worth grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket without looking at it. "Don't let the door hitcha on the way out."

They didn't say anything more. Worth followed them to the door and locked all three locks behind them. Dazed, he leaned against the door's cold metal surface, head spinning as he slowly slid down it to the floor.

_Hanna's partner? A cop?_

… _nah. Cas is a right stuck-up little shit who'd make up stories about his own mother if it'd get him anyplace._

He pulled the card back out of his pocket.

_But a cop. Hanna's partner._

_Not even remotely likely. _

_Toni's gonna flip. I can't tell 'er. Shit, I gotta tell 'er. But the kid..._

It was only slightly crumpled, a crease running through the logo in the upper left. The name was perfectly legible.

_A cop._

_But they were _here.

_Where the _fuck_ is Connie?_

_Hanna… and a cop._

Abner Vanslyk, Agent, Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.

… _really._


	5. November 4th

**NOVEMBER 4th **

**/LAMONT – 03:11/**

He wasn't going to come back.

It was a long damn drive, and his own apartment was much closer. Contrary to popular belief, he and Luce did not share living quarters: Lamont just happened to stay there most of the week. It was late though, and the extra few miles it would take to get to Luce's place seemed like a billion. And there wasn't anything there that wasn't at Lamont's place, and at Lamont's, the quality wasn't nearly as seedy.

But _Luce _was at Luce's.

Knuckling one eye against fatigue, Lamont ignored the turnoff for his own place and followed the freeway down to the warehouse district. At least he'd managed to keep his contract and set up the next client. If that didn't deserve a little celebration with his best friend, there wasn't much that did.

He parked his truck in the rear bay that no-one else used, climbed out, and let himself in through the back door.

"Luce?"

The overhead lights were off, but that wasn't a surprise at this time of morning. Luce usually closed up after two-thirty, so long as things were quiet, and if he wasn't up watching TV, he was probably asleep.

The lamp in the "bedroom" area was off, as was the one by the examination table. Way in the corner, near the front door, he could see the couch, the area rug and the blue glow of the television. Uh huh. Idiot had probably left the thing on, muted so he could talk over House's parts.

A loud ringing cut the silence, startling him. He glanced at the couch. There was someone sprawled on it, all right, and it was probably Luce Worth.

"Luce, your phone's ringing."

No response. Of course not. If the guy wasn't going to wake up to yelling, why should he wake up for his own phone? Sighing, Lamont strode over to the desk and opened the desk drawer. He pulled out the receiver on the rotary phone, not really wanting to talk to one of Luce's customers, but not having much choice. Messages now were better than Luce bitching later.

"Yeah?"

"...Good morning, Mr. Toucey. I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time."

Lamont went still. His eyes flicked around the warehouse, his stomach dropping. "What? No. No, not at all. What can I do for you?"

"I am a bit more concerned with what you are _already_doing for me."

The client had this number. Of course he had this number. Half the world that knew Hanna seemed to have this number. But still, why would he call here, now? Lamont couldn't suppress a nervous chuckle. "Ah, what do you mean?"

"Let us say that I had hoped this...delivery...would be rather without complications."

He giggled again then cleared his throat, cutting off the sound abruptly. "Sorry. I haven't heard about any problems. It's going well, so far."

"Is it." The voice on the other end was unhurried. "The contents are shifting a bit much in transit, for my taste."

"Hahaha, well , that's just the nature of transportation. Don't worry, everything will get where it's going just fine."

"I should hope so. Although I am beginning to worry whether it will arrive as promptly as expected."

"It'll be on time. Heh, the next shipment's already on the way."

"Please see that it is, and that it arrives in good condition. I'm beginning to think that maybe there were a few _other__items_I had forgotten to mention. But perhaps I am mistaken." The fine shift in tone was almost palpable in the quiet of Luce's warehouse, and the threat contained therein loomed large over the conversation.

Lamont swallowed, glancing at the figure on the couch. Suddenly, for no reason, his throat was dry. His lips moved, but no witty retort sprang to mind. He was blank. For the first time in his life, Lamont couldn't even laugh.

"Do we have an understanding, Mr. Toucey?" the voice asked after a moment.

"Yes." He had to clear his throat again. "Yeah. Crystal clear. Don't worry, I'll get it done."

"Good. You'll have to forgive my concern. Until we speak again, Mr. Toucey."

The line went dead. Slowly, Lamont replaced the receiver in the cradle. The light from the television flickered, going white, then red, then blue again. He walked to the couch.

Luce was exactly where Lamont had figured: face-down, his stupid big feet hanging over the edge, one arm dangling to the floor so rats could pick at it – and good luck to 'em, there wasn't any meat on Luce as it was.

"Hey. Fucker. Wake up." He kicked the sofa, and when he got no answer, he kicked harder. "You. Asshole!"

"G'way," Luce muttered from the couch.

"How about no." Lamont kicked the sofa again, then kicked Luce's hip for good measure.

Luce turned a bloodshot eye toward him, the side of his face smeared with drool. "FuckinWHAT, Jesus CHRIST."

He'd woken Luce up like this dozens of times. This wasn't a big deal. Luce was alive, that was all that mattered. It shouldn't matter that Luce was an idiot, that Addy was dead and Luce wasn't. Lamont kicked again, suddenly angry. "Med school. What happened."

Luce dropped his head back onto the cushions. "Yer fuckin' nuts go ter _bed_ya batshit fool."

Lamont's hand whipped out, grabbed Luce's bony upper arm, and dragged him off the couch, dumping him on the floor with a thud.

Luce sputtered, lashing out with a kick that was too slow and too obvious. "What th' flyin' fuckin' nun is yer _problem_?"

"Your _mess_ is my problem!" Lamont jabbed a finger into Worth's chest. "What'd you do to make 'em kick you out? What'd you do that you're here, now, and why the hell did you listen to me? Why're you working with me?"

He could see the emotions struggling across Luce's face, and it made him feel like an asshole. Hell, he _was_an asshole. But it felt good to see Luce suffer. Someone else was hurting, and that was _good._

"I didn't do anythin' –"

"Bullshit."

"An' anyhow I never said I wasn't gonna –"

"_Bullshit.__" _

"Fuck you!"

It was too soon, there was no legitimate reason to hit Luce, not really, not the way it normally came about, but this was what he wanted. He swung, not caring that it was too hard or that his not caring meant he shouldn't be doing it. His fist hit Luce's left cheek with a satisfying thud, meat against meat, and Luce hit the cement floor, groaning.

"Arsehole…!"

"D'you have to fuck up the second I'm not watching you?" Lamont demanded. "Could you not wait just a couple of fucking hours? I was gonna come see you after!"

"Bite me." Luce sat up, blood running from his mouth, anger and something more covert in his glare.

Lamont drew his fist back again – and stopped. "Your lip."

"What about it?" Luce snapped, baring teeth stained red. "Yer wanna take a picture, ya fuckin' psycho?"

There was a fresh bandage over Luce's eye. And one next to the other cheek. There were bruises along his hairline. Lamont's temper tightened. "I didn't hit you there. I hit your cheek."

"So?" Now Luce was up on his knees, blue eyes on Lamont, and the pupils were wide, so wide. "When's that ever stopped yer?"

"Who did that?"

"Who cares? C'mon, hurry up. Yer woke me up for this din'tcha?"

He wanted to hit him. He wanted so fucking badly to either punch that eager look off Luce's face or shove his dick in his mouth that he didn't know which to choose. "You piece of shit, just tell me who _hit_you?"

"Jesus, what does it matter?"

"Tell me who the fuck it was!"

Luce grinned wider. "Why should I?"

It was too much. Some things were just _too__much_.

Suddenly, as quickly as he'd become angry, Lamont was exhausted. The fury drained out of him like water through a sieve, leaving him empty, his shoulders sagging. "You can't do this, Luce."

"We do this all th' time, ya pussy –"

"You can't mess up like this. You can't make any mistakes. You don't know what he's asking."

Luce's brows came together, but his mouth stayed mocking, bloody. "What th' fuck're ya talkin' about? Yer fuckin' wasted –"

Lamont stepped past Luce and dropped onto the couch. His head felt too heavy to hold up. "You can't make any mistakes . Not now."

"I don' make mistakes, arsehole." Lamont didn't answer, and after a few seconds Luce stood, one skinny hand grabbing Lamont's hair and plowing roughly through it, messing up the gel. "Never mind. Let's get ter bed."

A thin giggle trickled out, the laughter back, and Lamont nodded, savoring the familiar sting of Luce's fingers caught in his hair. He shouldn't be worried. Luce wouldn't fuck up. Luce never fucked up. The bruises were probably from something stupid, like a tussle with one of his patients. Luce was good at his job, but he liked to fight. It was normal.

Lamont had nothing to worry about.

Normal.

Luce's thumb brushed Lamont's cheek. "Toldja yer shouldn't be drivin' after three. Makes yer fuckin' nuts."

Lamont shut his eyes. "You're always right, aren't you."

Luce snickered and tugged on Lamont's hair one more time. "I'm th' smart one, that's what happens. Now c'mon, Princess. Bed."


End file.
